


Most Precious of Treasures

by Exactlywhat



Series: Transformers Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tales, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exactlywhat/pseuds/Exactlywhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many mechs heard the call and came. Many failed. This is the story of the one who didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I promised another fairy tale story for Prowl and Jazz, so here it is! Sorry for the slight delay, the bunnies were being stubborn.

Most Precious of Treasures

Prologue

It all started vorns ago, on the coast of the Great Rust Sea. A kingdom grew, and grew wealthy, for the sea provided for all its needs and more. The capital of the kingdom was the beautiful city of Iacon, known over the planet for its riches, its marketplace, the fine craftsmechs who lived there, and, most of all, its rulers. For Iacon was governed by the Primes, the noblest and wisest mechs of all, chosen by the Matrix to lead with all the knowledge and experience of their forebearers. 

One orn, when the sun was just touching the horizon and the day was drawing to a close, a great shadow fell upon the kingdom. 

It was a draken, flying down from the Manganese Mountains. Knowledge of the Great City had spread even to this creature. Its greed had prompted it to leave its cave, for a draken's love of dark spaces is only surmounted by its lust for treasure. 

The creature's great wings covered the last light of the falling sun, its shadow darkening the city. The toughest, most hardened soldiers and guards shook in their plating, for this monster was unlike any they had seen before. 

They knew the city was lost the moment its huge form had appeared on the horizon. 

Knowing his city was doomed, the Prime gathered his weapons, said goodbye to his bondmate, and strode from his castle, then the city, and stood, facing the monster alone. 

“Why do you come, little Prime?” the fissilingual beast hissed. “You are one mech, standing alone against _me_! You have no chance. Soon, you will be destroyed, and your city destroyed with you.”

The Prime inclined his helm, regarding the monster with weary optics. “Indeed. But I am the Prime, the leader of this city and kingdom. If I do not stand for my people, who will?”

Slowly, the draken moved back, regarding the red and blue mech standing tall in front of him. “Hm. Brave. Brave, but foolish. It does not matter if you stand for them, with them, or behind them. You will all die.”

Nodding, the Prime, vented. “Yes, I am aware. But I am the Prime. It is my duty, and my honor.”

“Honor in being killed by a draken? Little Prime, you are sadly mistaken! There is no honor in this! I will squish you like a _bug_!”

“There is honor in standing for what you believe in, even if it means facing insurmountable odds,” the Prime countered, hefting his sword and shield. 

Laughing, the draken reared back. “Little Prime, you cannot hurt me! But your bravery, though foolish, has left me impressed. I will allow yourself and your kingdom to live, but only on one condition.” The beast leaned closer, until his blunt nose and fang-filled maw were mere inches from the Prime. “I wish for treasure, for wealth. I get what I want. For your kingdom's continued existence, I demand a tax. Once a groon, you bring treasures to the docks. The first tax is in three orns. Have it there, or your city will burn.”

With a mighty roar, the draken reared up on its hind legs and flared its wings. Then it was gone, flying over the city, then away. The Prime, relieved, fell to his knees as he watched the monster soar away. 

Three orns later, the tax was on the docks, packaged and ready for the draken to take it away, supplied from the Prime's own savings. For close to two vorns, the Prime paid the tax. 

But his credits were running out. He was growing poor, and had little left to give. 

So the people of the city started paying. They loved their Prime, for he ruled fairly and wisely, and they had seen how much had been taken.

For vorns, the city continued on, scraping by. The Prime and his bondmate had a creation, a beautiful little mechling. When the Prime's creation grew to be of age, he worked among his people, helping to pay the tax every groon when the draken came back down from the mountains. 

But ever so slowly, Iacon was drying up. There were only so many people willing to trade in a city ruled by a draken. There was only so much you could pull from the land around you before it ran out.

After vorns of successfully paying off the draken and buying their safety, Iacon was running out. 

And so, the Prime put forth a call. 

“People of Cybertron. Our city is plagued by a terrible burden. A draken holds us hostage, demanding wealth in exchange for our continued existence. But we are running out of time and money. 

“I ask not for donations. That will only extend our imprisonment. No, I ask for a mech, brave, strong, and smart enough to take on this monster, to destroy him, to free us.

“I am willing to offer rewards. My creation is of bonding age, and is willing to tie himself to whoever succeeds. I can promise a life here, some of whatever wealth the draken has, and should the mech prove willing and competent, and should the Matrix choose him, I will name him my heir. 

“We are desperate. I call to anyone who can offer us aid; we need your help.”

Many mechs heard the call and came. Many failed. 

This is the story of the one who didn't.


	2. Chapter 1: Arrival

Chapter 1: Arrival

His armor was dusty and worn, paint scratched and faded. His gait was slow, but it was even and practiced; an efficient step that would get the walker where he wanted to go quickly. Doorwings flared from his back, still and stiff. Amber-gold optics glowed faintly from under a brilliant red chevron. 

A few optics tracked his progress down the street, but not many paid him attention. He was just another traveler, coming here to trade, perhaps, or maybe just passing through. Most people did that, nowadays, after all. Not very many wanted to stay in a town ruled by a draken. 

Prowl, though, was not thinking of a draken, or of passing through. He was thinking of his younger brother, and the home he had promised to find, and wondering if he had maybe, finally, found somewhere. 

It was while he was contemplating this when he bumped into the small, silver mech. 

“Whoa, mech,” the silver mech chuckled, lifting four-fingered, claw-tipped hands. “Sorry.”

“No, it is I who should be sorry. I should watch where I am walking.”

“Ah, a gentlemech on the streets down here? That ain't somethin' ya find every orn.” The silver mech leaned to the side slightly, peering around Prowl, staring at his doorwings. “An' a Praxian t' boot. What're ya doin' here, mech?”

“I do believe that is none of your business.”

“Hey, Ah was jus' askin'. No need t' get snappy.”

Prowl vented heavily. “I am sorry. I have been moving for a long time, and I am exhausted.”

“Mm, understand'ble. Ah'm sorry fer intrudin'. Mah creators say Ah'm too curious fer mah own good, an' they're usually right.”

Shaking his helm, Prowl glanced around, golden optics skimming over the crowded streets. A few people shot them curious or amused glances, but no one paid them much mind. “I... Curiosity in itself is not bad. It is when you let it get away from you and control your actions when it becomes problematic.”

The silver mech stared at the black and white for a long moment before chuckling quietly. “Ah like you,” he stated, grinning widely. 

“... Pardon me?” He... liked Prowl? After knowing him for less than a breem? It made no sense.

“Yeah. Ah like ya. Yer... funny wit'out tryin'. An' ya ain't tryin' t' impress meh. Ah... It's... nice.”

“I... understand?”

The silver mech smiled. “Eh, ignore meh. Ah'm... Primus! Ah don' even know yer name! An' ya don' know mine. Sorry. Ah'm Jazz.”

“I am Prowl.”

“Nice t' mee'cha, mech.”

Prowl dipped his doorwings and helm in a nod. “Likewise. However, I must find a place to stay for the night-”

“Mah place is open.”

Jerking back in open surprise, Prowl's armor rattled. “I do not believe-”

“Oh, Primus, not like that! Eh heh... Ah'm sorry. Ah didn' mean it like that. Ah've got a spare room, an' Ah lend it t' whoever needs it. Ah... Ah 'pologise fer soundin' so forward.”

After a second of regarding the silver mech, Prowl nodded. “Very well, then. One night, I believe. Next orn, I will find a place of my own to stay. I do not like to impose.”

“No trouble 't all, mech.”


	3. Chapter 2: Searching for Home

Chapter 2: Searching for Home

Prowl woke quickly, as he was wont to do, and spent a moment trying to remember where he was. It wasn't a hotel – that much was made obvious by the bright colors of the walls and the trinkets on the shelves. 

Then he remembered. That small, silver mech he had bumped into. Jazz. The offer of a place to stay for the night. The brilliantly painted apartment he had been led to.

Venting heavily, he sat up, twitching his doorwings to remove the kinks that always accumulated overnight. After allowing himself the barest moment to luxuriate in the warmth of the berth and the long, refreshing stretch, he swung his legs to to the side, pushed himself up, and stood. Another moment to stretch, as he arched his back, flared his three-part doorwings, spread his armor, and loosened tension lines, and he walked out of the room, heading toward the kitchen area he had been led past the night before. 

Jazz was there, humming quietly as he pulled a few different colored cubes down from a cupboard. 

The silver mech smiled as he turned to face Prowl. “Hungry? Ah've got pretty much anythin' ya could want. What color d'ya favor?”

Prowl stared for half a klik, then slowly moved to sit down at one of the barstools next to the counter. “I am partial to red, myself, but I will take whatever is easiest for you.”

Grinning merrily, the mech pulled a glimmering, red cube from an upper shelf. “Got some here, an' it ain't a probl'm 't all.”

Prowl took the offered cube and drank slowly, watching Jazz from the corners of his optics. The silver mech danced around the kitchen, cube of blue energon in hand. Prowl could discern no reason for the dancing. He was obviously not _trying_ to draw attention to himself. It seemed to be simply for his own fun. 

It confused Prowl, but after vorns of knowing his cousin, Smokescreen, and living with his brother, Bluestreak, he was rather used to the strange actions of less logical mechs. 

“So, what'cha plannin' on doin' t'day?” Jazz asked suddenly, making Prowl twitch. 

“As I told you last orn, I will look for somewhere to stay.”

The silver mech regarded him with a grin for a few long moments. “Well, Ah wish ya luck. But remember yer always welcome here. Ah like havin' company.”

Prowl simply twitched his doorwings in a shrug and continued drinking his energon. Sixteen breems later, he was saying goodbye to Jazz and walking out the door of the apartment. 

He visited every apartment complex in the area, and found none suitable. There were a few he would stand living in himself, but none he would consider bringing Bluestreak to live in. 

At the end of the orn, he found himself standing at Jazz's door, knocking and waiting for the silver mech to answer. 

He did within kliks, grinning widely when he saw who it was. “Didn' find anythin'? Mm. Sorry, not many good places 'round here nowadays. All th' good places 're either occupied or gone outta business.”

“As I have found. I do hope it is all right for me to stay just until I manage to find somewh-”

“Sure, mech. Ah already tol'ja. Yer welcome here. Ah like company, an' yer polite t' boot. Mah place is yers, fer as long's ya like.”

“That is... uncommonly generous of you.”

Jazz shrugged as he sauntered over to his wide, comfy couch. “So people tell me. But Ah've always been this way,” he said as he flopped down, still grinning. “Please. Make yerself at home. Energon's same place it was this mornin'.”

“Thank you. I would be happy to pay you for your trouble.”

Shaking his helm, Jazz straightened slightly from his slouch. “Look, mech, y' don' need ta do that.”

“I insist.”

“Ah... There won' be any convincin' ya otherwise, will there?”

“No,” Prowl said firmly, staring down the smaller mech.

Jazz just chuckled and relaxed back into his comfortable slouch. “Suit yerself, then.”

Frowning, Prowl walked into the kitchen and pulled out a cube of the red energon he had partaken of the night before and drank it quickly. Then he retreated to his room, where he spent the night most definitely _not_ hiding from Jazz. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Prowl spent the next orn doing much what he had the orn before; searching for a place to take up residence. Once again, he failed, and returned to Jazz's apartment. He tried again the next orn, and the next, and the one after that. 

Finally, Jazz told him to stop. “Yer jus' tirin' yerself out. Ya ain't gonna find a place, not now, not ever. Let it be. Ah like havin' ya here, an' jus' admit it, ya like it here, too.”

Prowl glared at the silver mech for a long time before venting and letting his doorwings drop. “I am sorry, Jazz, but-”

“Ah know, yer lookin' fer a home fer yerself and yer bro. Don' worry. Ah'm sure we can find some room t' let him stay here wit' us.”

“Jazz, that goes against everything I stand for. I cannot impose.”

“Hey. Mech. Listen. Yer not imposin'. Yer th' best guest Ah've ever had. Ya pay. Yer... Ya ain't a guest anymore, yer a tenant. A roomie.”

Another heavy vent. “I... I still cannot bring him here to stay in this apartment, Jazz.”

The silver mech smiled again. “Then don'. Stay fer a bit, keep lookin' if ya need to. But get settl'd here. Make friends. Get t' know th' city. If people know ya, they'll find ya a place t' stay. It'll jus' take some time.”

Prowl's doorwings drooped a bit more. “I suppose. But I do not like the idea of leaving Bluestreak alone for so long.”

“Well, contact him. Ask him if he's okay wit' ya takin' a bit longer.”

“I already know what he would say.”

“Well, then. Don' worry.”

Mentally throwing his hands in the air, Prowl sat down on the edge of the couch, next to his... 'roomie.'


	4. Chapter 3: The Offer

Chapter 3: The Offer

It was some time later, over a decaorn after Prowl had been hired at the Enforcer's Station as a desk-clerk, that the draken came back. 

As always, it was a scheduled visit, a regular thing. 

Prowl, however, having never been in the city before, was unaware, and so was surprised at the lack of activity throughout Iacon as he walked to work. 

All was silent. Mechs went about their business with downcast optics and tight armor, barely watching where they were going, barely looking about as they did their ornly chores. 

“What is happening?” was Prowl's greeting as he walked toward his desk, stopping at one of the patrol-mech's desks. 

Barricade gave him a long glance before setting down his report and motioning him into a side room. 

“You really don't know?”

The Praxian shook his helm. “I do not. Everyone is acting strangely. As though they were frightened.”

The black Enforcer snorted, rattling his armor as he leaned against a long conference table. “The draken. This orn is the one he comes to collect his tax.”

And with that, Prowl remembered. He remembered the travelers that his creators occasionally housed telling of the monstrous beast and the rich kingdom, and, later, hearing from people himself of the Prime's offer. 

Barricade recognized the realization and gave a dry grin. “Yeah. Most'a us were wondering why you'd wanna stay here. I guess that answers it. You forgot.”

“Indeed,” Prowl murmured again, but his thoughts were elsewhere. 

The draken was the reason for Iacon's decline. Remove the draken, reverse the decline, right? Not to mention he would have a Prime in his debt. 

Which would, no doubt, make Iacon a wonderful home for himself and his brother. 

Having decided, Prowl refocused on Barricade. “I thank you,” he said, giving a slight nod, and directed the conversation to safer grounds.


	5. Chapter 4: Investigating

Chapter 4: Investigating

Finding the draken's lair was easier than one might have thought. Everyone knew where it was – up in the nearest mountain, halfway up, deep in one of the largest caves available. 

With the location came stories, though, stories that put Prowl on edge. 

The first five mechs who had tried themselves against the monster had simply disappeared. 

The sixth had been found – well, partially. Only his head, sitting on the docks after a payment had been picked up. 

The seventh's arm had been dropped in the main square two orns after he had set out. 

The eighth had been dropped, screaming, into the Rust Sea, miles from the city; within viewing distance, but far enough away that no one would ever be able to get to him before he sank and the deadly rust ate him away. 

The ninth, tenth, and eleventh had journeyed out within orns of each other, and had been strung up between the few crystal trees at the base of the draken's mountain. 

The twelfth had simply disappeared, as had the thirteenth. The fourteenth, however, had been sent stumbling back to the town, his own sword through his side; he died within joors of making it back home. 

The fifteenth had been welded to the city walls in the dead of the night, still alive, and welcomed the dawn with screams. 

And the bloody stories continued. 

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, more.

The stories of how many had tried, exactly, varied. Some said hundreds, some said thousands, some, and these were those Prowl was most inclined to believe, said something between forty and fifty. 

Still, the Praxian wanted a good home for his brother, and, so far, this seemed like the best bet.

 _And how low Cybertron has sunk,_ he thought to himself as he started up the face of the mountain, _if killing a draken is the best option out there._

Though he wasn't actually planning on killing it yet. He had no intention of becoming the fifty-first example to the city of why not to mess with monsters. If the risks were too great, he would leave it be. 

It took joors to reach the cave, and even more to sneak through it without alerting the draken to his presence. Tedious would have been the best description. And nerve-wracking. The monster was sleeping in the deepest part of the massive network of caverns and tunnels, curled up on the pile of riches he had accumulated. 

Needless to say, Prowl avoided that room. 

But everything else seemed mostly abandoned. Dark, empty caves, full of nothing but dust, mildew, and stagnant air. 

The draken, he determined, stayed with his hoard, only leaving to eat and collect the tax. 

And that room left no room for an ambush. 

It was easy to see how the other hopefuls had been defeated. If one did not look, think, and simply went charging in... 

There were enough loose pieces of gold, silver, and gems to alert the monster if a mech ran through them. Even if sneaking, creeping, there was not an inch of empty floor space. Something would move, something would make noise. And the draken's armor, from the little Prowl had seen, would stand up to a fusion cannon blast. 

Those mechs never stood a chance.

And Prowl wouldn't, either. 

Reluctantly, the Praxian left the cave and went back down the mountain, resigning himself to living with Jazz for a while longer, until he worked up the courage to move on to the next city.


	6. Chapter 5: This is Home

Chapter 5: This is Home

The city, upon his return, looked smaller. The mechs looked tiny and dirty and depressed. 

But... it also looked... familiar. He was, for the first time in a very long time, _happy_ to be back, to have somewhere to go back _to_. 

He hadn't really been happy to return anywhere after his creators had deactivated. 

Thinking on his new-found realization, he slowly wandered back toward Jazz's apartment. The mechs on the street smiled at him as he passed, and he smiled back. This was... home. 

Whether he found somewhere for Bluestreak to stay or not, he was... It had become a home for him. He knew he had to move on, but he didn't want to. 

The door to the small apartment opened before he could reach for the keypad. 

“Heya, Prowler. Heard ya in the hallway.”

“Hello, Jazz,” Prowl replied, not surprised in the least. Since moving in with the small, silver mech, he had been made rather acutely aware of the almost scarily strong audials Jazz possessed. The mech was always aware of what was happening around him. 

“What happ'ned t'day? Went t' visit ya at the station, an' ya weren' there.”

The Enforcer shook his helm. “I was simply looking again for a place to stay.”

“Aw, so eager t' leave me?” the silver mech said with a grin as he stepped to the side to let Prowl in. 

“Not at all. I just hate to impose.”

Jazz just laughed.


	7. Chapter 6: A Stolen Treasure

Chapter 6: A Stolen Treasure

Half a groon passed without incident. Prowl continued with his work as an Enforcer, Jazz continued with whatever it was he did (every time Prowl asked, he gave rather inconclusive and vague answers – the Praxian figured he really didn't have a set job; many mechs around the city talked of Jazz's help, so it was a logical conclusion to assume the mech simply did odd jobs wherever needed), and life continued on as normal. 

The Praxian had contacted Bluestreak a couple times since his arrival in Iacon, and did so in those long decaorns. His brother seemed to be happy with Smokescreen, their cousin, at the moment, so Prowl really had not persisted in his house-hunt as enthusiastically as he had before. 

Life in Iacon had settled into a pleasant routine for Prowl and Jazz, one neither of them really wanted to break.

That considered, Jazz really had no reason to disappear. 

Prowl really thought nothing of it when he came back to the apartment after a long day and found the silver mech gone. He simply assumed some job or mech had kept him late, and so went to sleep without worry. 

In the morning, when Jazz was again absent, he again did not think to worry; his host and roommate kept an irregular schedule, and left early often enough for it not to be strange. 

It was that night, when he once again came home to an empty, undisturbed apartment, that he began to worry. Nothing had been moved; no energon was missing from the cupboards; when he peeked into the silver mech's room, the berth covers were undisturbed. 

Prowl grabbed a cube of energon and drank it on his way back to the station. 

“Prowl, what are-”

“Jazz is missing.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The flurry of motion that had broken out after his announcement was not unexpected; Jazz was a good, law-abiding citizen and well-liked by most other residents of the city. 

What came as a surprise was the arrival of the Prime. 

The massive mech charged into the station mere breems after Prowl himself had arrived, his EM field spiking in distress. “Where is my creation?” he demanded, shoulders stiff, back straight. 

Prowl, who had been staring at a map of the city trying to figure out where the mech could have gone off to, immediately felt his processor freeze. Creation? The Prime... Jazz... Creation? Jazz was..? But..! How..?

The Praxian fell over, optics faded white, armor clacking as he shivered. 

The world went dark.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Prowl woke slowly, processor aching in a very sadly familiar way. 

“What made me crash?” he asked as his optics powered back up. 

Then he saw the Prime looming somewhere over the backs of his fellow Enforcers, and he remembered. 

“Jazz is your creation?” he asked, just to be sure, before anyone could answer his previous question. 

The massive mech nodded. “Yes, though he does not like to advertise the fact. He wishes to be treated as a normal citizen of Iacon.”

Prowl just nodded as he pushed himself back to his feet. 

“We... have news,” Barricade said after the Praxian had risen. 

Prowl just looked at him. 

“Jazz... the Draken has him.”

There was silence. Then, “What?”

“The Draken has taken my creation as recompense for the... We...” The Prime faltered, helm turning to the ground. “We have been unable to pay the full amount for some time.”

Jazz had been taken by the Draken? Now, this was problematic. Prowl realized suddenly that his armor was bristling and his doorwings were standing in a stiff, proud 'V'. His reactions surprised him slightly. There was a strange sense of... _possession_ when he thought of Jazz, an anger at the monster that had taken him, because who would _dare_ to take what was _his_?

Revving his engine, Prowl glanced again at the useless map still displayed on the wall, then turned back to the massive Prime. 

“The Draken has made a dreadful mistake this orn. I will get Jazz back,” Prowl swore, optics glittering with a light those present could only liken to that which lit those of the monster.


	8. Chapter 7: In the Lair of the Beast

Chapter 7: In the Lair of the Beast

He went alone. Save for a few supplies gathered from various sources, he also went empty-handed. 

Swords and guns had proven useless against the beast. So Prowl would use other methods.

The climb seemed shorter than the last time. Faster, easier. Before long, he was in front of the entrance, staring down into darkness. It was down there. Jazz was down there. 

Prowl smiled. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Finding his way back to the chamber the Draken called home was not difficult. It was the only tunnel system without dust. Not to mention Prowl had perfect recall. 

Peering around the edge of the cavern, the Praxian did a quick survey of the room. 

The Draken was coiled over its pile of ill-gotten goods. Behind him was a large cage, fit for an avian mechanimal. Inside the cage, curled into a small, silver ball, was Jazz. 

The anger that had fueled him thus far rose again, to a blazing peak. 

This monster... He would pay, and pay dearly. Prowl kept what was his, and any who opposed him? Suffice to say, they did not last long. 

One item was taken out of subspace; a small canister. He pushed a small button and tossed, directly toward Jazz, across the room, on the other side of the monster as himself. 

Smoke hissed out from miniscule openings as the Draken turned to face his captive. The monster got a face full of the gas, and reeled backward, coughing as his intakes sputtered. Stumbling, it stepped backward and collapsed. 

Prowl grinned. 

How no one had thought to use some form of sleeping gas in the past, he did not know. But he had, and it worked. 

He strode confidently to the monster and pulled out a long blade – not a sword, but a katana, one of the long, thin blades of his homeland. Finding a gap in the scales of the beast's chest, he drove the blade in and in, down and down, until he could feel the life of the monster's spark draining out along the metal. 

Then, just to be sure, he drove the katana another foot deeper, a wicked snarl on his face. 

The blade came free with the quiet hiss of metal on metal, and Prowl stood straighter, staring down at the dead body of the Draken.


	9. Chapter 8: Going Home

Chapter 8: Going Home

Jazz woke slowly. It was to be expected, after a direct dose of a sleeping gas powerful enough to take out a Draken. Even so, Prowl crouched nervously next to him, gently caressing his helm in long, sweeping strokes. 

“Jazz?”

“Prowler? Wh- What're ya doin' here?! Ya-”

“The Draken is dead.”

The silver mech blinked once. 

Twice. 

Glanced over at the long, graying frame. 

Looked back to Prowl. 

“You... Ya killed it.”

“Yes,” the Praxian said, smiling viciously. 

“Ya killed th' Draken.”

“I did.”

“Ya... saved me?”

“I should think so.”

Jazz laughed as he sat up. “Primus! Ya... Ya killed it!”

Giving him a dry look, Prowl twitched his smile into a stern look. “Jazz, we have already covered this.”

The Prince of Iacon just laughed again as he threw his arms over the Praxian's shoulders, careful, as always, of the doorwings. 

They did not stay in the lair for long. Home was waiting, with friends, warm energon, and then their berths. 

Prowl helped Jazz to his feet, and slowly, they walked from the cave, through the tunnels, and out, into the sunlight. 

There, they stopped for a moment, staring out over the city. 

“Primus. Never seen it from so far away a'fore,” Jazz said quietly.

“Indeed. It looks very peaceful from here.”

“It is peaceful now, thanks t' ya.”

“I did not do it for the city.”

The silver mech cast a glance at his companion. “No?” 

Prowl smiled faintly as he turned to Jazz. “No. I could not let the monster keep you, Jazz. I had to get you back.”

Smiling back, the Prince snagged one of the Praxian's hands in his own. “Me, huh? Ya like me 'nough t' kill a draken?”

“I do, as surprising as it might seem.”

“Nah, not really. Ah'd do th' same fer ya, ya know.”

There was a moment of contented silence as they stood together and looked out at the faraway city. 

“Jazz... The Prime made sure I was aware of his... offer... before I came.”

“Well, Ah'm willin'.”

“Are you?”

Jazz reached up and placed both hands on Prowl's shoulders, forcing the taller mech to look at him.”Prowler, Ah was thinkin' 'bout askin' ya fer a while now. Jus' haven' worked up th' bolts t' do it.”

The Praxian let out a long, heavy vent, then smiled. “In that case, Jazz, would you give me the honor of taking my spark?”

“Ah'd be happy t' do it, Prowler.”


	10. Chapter 9: Decisions

Chapter 9: Decisions

Returning to the city was odd for both of them. Prowl, because he suddenly realized that, should the Matrix choose him, Iacon could be much more than a home; he could be its' Prime; Jazz, because he was walking with his Intended, and his city, the place of his creation, was finally free from the monster that had plagued it for centivorns. 

People gathered on the streets as the two mechs walked, finally, into the city. They stared, stunned, crowding the sidewalks, leaving the roads clear, whispering amongst themselves until the quiet words grew louder and louder and Prowl and Jazz could hear what they said. 

“They're alive!”

“That Enforcer brought the Prince back alive!”

“What's his name?”

“Prowl, I think! He's been living here for a few groons now.”

“He was living with _Jazz_! Did you know that?”

“And he got him from the Draken...”

“Are they lovers?”

“I don't think anyone knows, but Jazz hasn't said anything.”

“The Enforcer-”

“-Prowl.”

“-Prowl hasn't either.”

“But they came back alive.”

“Prowl must have killed the Draken!”

A few moments later, cheers began to erupt around them. Thunderous applause filled the city. Prowl and Jazz walked as honored heroes down the streets of the battered, weary city. 

The Prime met them on the main street. He stood tall, a good head-and-shoulders above everyone else, his mate, a small, energon-pink femme at his side. 

“Creators!” Jazz cheered and launched himself forward, a wide grin on his face as he was enveloped in the Prime's huge arms. 

“Jazz. We thought we had lost you,” his carrier hummed as she too joined the hug. 

“Nah. Prowler here saved me.”

The Prime and Elita-One turned to face the Praxian, who was standing at attention. 

“You have our eternal thanks,” the Prime Consort said, taking a step away from her family and offering the Enforcer a small bow. 

Prowl shook his helm. “I would do it many times over for no thanks, ma'am,” he murmured.

Smiling, the Prime also took a step toward the black and white mech. “All the same. There was a reward offered long ago for the slaying of the monster.” Slowly, the massive mech turned to face his creation. “Jazz?”

“Already said yes, 'Tor,” the silver Prince said with a grin. 

The people around them cheered again, louder this time, loud enough that the four assembled bots could not speak and be heard over the cacophony. They just exchanged brilliant, elated grins instead, as Prowl stepped forward and swept Jazz into a deep first kiss.


	11. Chapter 10: A Happily Ever After. Maybe.

Chapter 10: A Happily Ever After. Maybe.

The bonding ceremony had lasted a whole decaorn. The first orn was the actual event; partying, drinking, and celebrating had followed. 

Teams had been sent up the mountain to gather the Draken's horde and bring it back to the city. Load upon load of riches had been carted down the steep incline and brought back home. The Prime's vaults had been filled again. Every citizen was given their share, and everyone had, finally, funds to spare. 

Nobody could help but notice a difference in the city. People were happier, more willing to smile. Prowl, though he did move back into the Prime's Palace with Jazz, continued to work at the Enforcer's Station, and Jazz continued working the odd jobs he had since his coming-of-age. 

The Draken's corpse had been stripped down, all the valuable metals and energon going toward rebuilding the parts of the city that had suffered due to the lack of funds available. Its core struts had been wired together to stand over the main entrance to the city, a canopy of bones to watch over it. Its skull was positioned right over the gates, staring down with hollow, empty optic-sockets on all who dared enter. The people of the city grew to love their draken skeleton, for it was a reminder of all they had overcome; visitors to the city, however, avoided it if at all possible. 

All was going well. Iacon had been freed, the city was recovering, the people were happy, and Prowl, most importantly, had found a home. It was, finally, time to call Bluestreak. 

Before he could comm, though, he received a message from his cousin, Smokescreen. The mech was almost incoherent.

“Prowl, Prowl, I’m so sorry! I can't- I couldn't- They took him!”

Prowl stiffened in front of the camera. “Took who, Smokescreen?” he demanded, voice icy. 

“I tried- They wouldn't- I-”

“Who. Took. _Who_?” 

“They- They took Bluestreak! I tried to keep them from it, but I couldn't- It was an accident!”

Prowl was shaking now, his armor rattling threateningly. Even though Smokescreen was miles and miles away, he flinched at the angry expression on his brother's face. “Who has taken my brother?” the black and white demanded again. 

“They... Two Lords. Out in the woods. I was... I was lost, and they got me overcharged, and I- I lost him!”

The Enforcer narrowed his amber-gold optics. “I will come. Do nothing until my arrival.”

The comm closed and Prowl stood as he opened another, internal comm. 

::Jazz.::

::Heya, lover. S'up?::

::We are leaving. My cousin has come into some trouble, and my brother seems to be in even more trouble as a result of it.::

::Mm. Well, Ah’m ready t' go when you are.::

:: We leave the next orn.::

::Sounds good!::

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The next comm came early in the orn, before they managed to get out of the city. A courier had cut them off before they walked out from beneath the draken's skull and told them the Prime wanted them back at the Palace. 

They had arrived back at the palace to find Smokescreen again on a vid-comm, shaking in his plating, optics practically white as he babbled on about monsters and kidnappings and how Bluestreak was in terrible danger and was probably being threatened. 

Prowl, though the whole tirade, was standing stiff and straight as a poker, face set in stony lines. 

When Smokescreen was finally reduced to quiet, nonsensical babbling, the Praxian turned to the Prime. “Requesting permission to borrow a portion of your army to rescue my brother.”

“Granted,” the Prime said immediately, face also showing his anger and frustration. He understood being held captive by a monster. 

They left as soon as the legion could be mobilized, about a joor after the Prime had granted permission. 

And Prowl was off to slay another monster and save, this time, his brother.


End file.
